


A Mild Haunting

by space_mermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Frotting, Gen, Ghosts, Grieving, M/M, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_mermaid/pseuds/space_mermaid
Summary: Fred reappears as a ghost on his and George's 21st birthday. However, George is not convinced that he's legitimate, as he is the only one who can see Fred. That doesn't stop Fred turning his life upside down for the better.
Relationships: George Weasley & Percy Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/George Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	A Mild Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bex as part of the GGE '17. Much love.

Fred was dead. But a little thing like that wouldn’t keep him from his 21st birthday. “Merlin, this is a bore.” 

George jumped up and tripped over his chair. 

Bill rose from the table, chair screeching over wood, and bent over George’s shaking, thin frame. “Right there, mate?” 

George was still gaping at his identical twin, who was now leaning casually against the fully laden table. 

“Lightweight,” Fred shook his head. 

George pointed wordlessly at the mocking man, but no one else seemed to pay him any mind. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Molly joined the party on the floor, patting George’s shoulder timidly. 

“Don’t you see him?” George choked out, allowing Bill to haul him to his feet, though his legs were refusing to bear weight. 

“See who?” Ginny asked. 

George’s eyes flicked between his mother and Bill, then around the table at his siblings and father. 

The room was heavy with grief. Dwindling conversations and half-hearted consumption had fully dissipated with George’s odd behaviour. The smell of meat was turning his stomach. They were all staring at him, eyes mournful and pitying. They thought he was crazy. 

Maybe he was crazy. 

“No one,” George said. “I’m going to bed.” 

“I quite agree,” Fred said. He walked straight through them and towards the stairs. 

“Are you sick, dear?” Molly asked. 

“Don’t fuss, I’m fine,” George grit out and shook her off like a fly. 

“I’ll go with you,” Bill chimed in, steely eyes stamping out any chance of protest. 

George pursed his lips and headed up the stairs, an echo of footfalls behind him. 

There was no one in his old bedroom. Of course there wasn’t. George collapsed onto the bed, curling up around the stabbing pain in his guts. 

“Hey,” Bill sat on the edge of bed and grabbed one of George’s hands. 

George’s skin hurt. His muscles ached. His blood screamed in his veins. 

“We understand,” Bill said softly. “This must be a really hard day for you.” 

George kept his mouth firmly closed, barring building nausea from breaking out. 

“It’s your first birthday apart. It must be…bloody devastating.” 

George shut his eyes and willed himself to straddle his anger. It wasn’t Bill’s fault. It was none of their faults. But their words were infuriating. He was drowning, at the bottom of a cold black lake, the weight of the icy water crushing his chest, bursting and bleeding out his lungs. And all they could do was stand on the shore, shake their heads sadly and offer empty platitudes. 

“Bill,” George said, voice wavering. 

“Yes?” 

“Please leave.” 

Bill squeezed his hand. “Okay, mate. I’m here if you need me.” 

He gently rose from the bed and padded softly across the floor, closing the door soundlessly behind him. 

“Merlin, what a downer.” 

George shot up, eyes bulging. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Fred’s eyebrows rose. “It’s my bedroom too.” 

George shook his head. “I’m going mental.” 

“You’ve always been mental, what’s all the fuss about?” 

“No, I’ve never had bloody hallucinations before!” 

“Hallucination?” Fred gripped his chest, pouting. “Hallucination? I’m offended, shocked, wounded –” 

“Dead.” 

“Exactly! I’m a ghost, not a hallucination, troll for brains.” 

George wrapped his arms around himself and breathed deeply. He did not want to see this. It was bad enough looking in the mirror every day, he didn’t need this hallucination to taunt him too. “Not real,” he muttered under his breath. “Not real.” 

“Rude. You’re going to ignore me on our birthday?” 

“You don’t get any more birthdays, you’re dead,” George snapped. 

“It’s like a broken bloody record with you. I _know_ I’m dead, we’ve established that. I’m a ghost.” 

“Then why can no one else see you?” George demanded. 

Fred shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. As long as you can see me, that’s all that matters.” 

George stared at the apparition. The alleged ghost. He wasn’t grey and transparent like the ghosts from school. He looked solid, colourful, normal. George threw a pillow at him. It went straight through his stomach and hit the floor. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to leave, with all this hostility.” 

“I do want you to leave!” 

“Why? Just because I’m dead? How very livist. Vitalit-ist. Uh... Discriminatory against dead people.” 

George groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “You’re a bloody nightmare.” 

Silence. George swallowed thickly and looked up. He was alone. 

George sighed and rose, stepping out of the room and towards the bathroom. He washed his face in the basin, hands trembling like leaves in the wind. He brushed his teeth in a bid to cleanse the taste of bile emanating from his throat. He combed his hair, biting the teeth into his scalp, superficial pain distracting from the deep. He exhaled, eyeing his reflection reproachfully. He still looked like shit. 

His reflection broke into a grin. “Feel better?” 

George punched Fred’s face and the mirror shattered with a crash. “Fuck!” 

George curled his bleeding hand into a fist and winced, feeling around in his robes until he found his wand. “Repairo,” he muttered. The shards clicked against each other aimlessly. “Repairo!” Nothing. 

George bundled his bleeding hand in a towel and sat on the edge of the toilet, trying to summon enough strength to clean up the mess. His family had probably heard the crash. He’d finally cracked it, and he was a danger to himself. He might get sent to St Mungo’s for this. 

George scrambled up and flipped open the toilet seat. He heaved over the bowl, and from a pit of despair, vomited up every last scrap he’d eaten for his birthday lunch and a whole lot of stomach acid. He retched desperately, tears streaming down his cheeks. It would never be enough to dislodge the black hole that had torn open his deepest depths the day that Fred had died. 

* * *

For all he had been glued to the bed the past three days, George had barely slept a wink. It was probably sleep deprivation that conjured Fred once again. 

“Come on, up and at ‘em, Georgie!” 

George buried his face in his pillow, smothering a groan. If he ignored it, it would fade. Surely. 

“Who’s running the shop while you’re moping around?... Hello?” 

“No one,” George’s voice was muffled. 

“What was that? I’m going half-deaf, to maintain identical status.” 

“No one,” George rolled over and came face to face with Fred, who was sitting on the floor beside the bed. “Wheezers’s been closed ages.” 

“Well, that won’t do at all. Kids are going back to school this year, yeah?” 

George nodded. He couldn’t help but respond to this hallucination. He always did follow Fred’s lead. 

“They’ll be wanting our products over the summer, and to bring to school. We’ve got to reopen.” 

George rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, neck stiff and mouth too dry. If he did what the hallucination said, maybe it would leave him alone. “Alright.” 

Fred cheered George on as he stumbled out of bed and pulled on some clothes. They walked down the stairs, only one set of footfalls sounding, and George scrounged up some toast in the kitchen. 

“Ah, you’re up,” Percy wandered in from the den with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He was evidently not long awake himself, still in a bed robe and slippers, glasses askew. 

“Yep,” George said, turning away and busying himself with pouring a glass of pumpkin juice. 

“Percy! Shouldn’t you be at work by now? You might lose a gold star off your half-year review if you’re tardy.” 

“He’s on leave,” George mumbled. 

“What?” Percy asked. 

Fred circled Percy, hands on hips. “Leave! No. Well, your badge collection won’t sort itself, I suppose.” 

George quickly scoffed down the toast and chased it with the juice, avoiding meeting Percy’s confused expression as he stepped into the fireplace, a clump of green powder in hand. 

“Where are you off to?” Percy asked, folding his arms. 

“Diagon Alley.” 

* * *

Fred coughed, waving his hand around his face and crinkling his freckly nose. “Blimey, it’s like great aunt Tessie’s attic in here.” 

George wiped a finger over the counter, a thin line of brown breaking through the grey dust. “Hmm. It’ll take ages to clean. Probably shouldn’t bother.” 

“Nonsense! A few Scourgify spells and she’ll be as good as new.” 

“Can’t,” George sighed, pawing through boxes on the shelves, still disorganised from the Death Eater raid the previous year. 

“Why not?” 

“Can’t do magic anymore.” 

Fred frowned, leaning into the shelves to catch his brother’s eye. “Why, Georgie?” he pressed, tone softer. 

George sniffed and rubbed his nose, nasal passages assaulted by irritants. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t work properly.” 

Fred hummed. “Well, you need some help, then.” 

“I don’t want help.” 

“You don’t have to want help to need it. We’ll put out an ad, I bet there’s tonnes of new graduates from Ron’s year that need an entry level position, or at least kids that want a summer job.” 

“Those that aren’t dead,” George breathed. 

“There you go again, bigot! Just place the ad, you’ll see.” 

* * *

There were two applicants. One of them was their brother. 

“You’re on leave, Perce, don’t you have better things to do?” George grumbled, plopping Percy’s immaculate, five-page resume on the store counter. 

“I thought his section about increasing the efficiency of paper memo travel by 20 per cent was pretty compelling,” Fred countered. 

“He’ll just boss me around, and probably warn the customers against buying anything.” 

“Classic Percy,” Fred grinned. “Who else you got?” 

“Seamus Finnegan.” 

“Alright, what’s he got to say for himself?” 

“‘Excellent pyrotechnician’. Then he lists two pages of shit he’s blown up,” George drops the resume into the wastepaper basket. 

“Very interesting.” 

“You want him to blow up the store?” 

“Have some imagination! He could open up a whole new market. Think of it, a new range of exploding, fire-related products. It’ll be a hit.” 

George’s lips quirked. He wasn’t wrong. “So, you want me to hire Seamus?” 

“Why not him and Percy both? You probably don’t even have to pay Percy.” 

George fished Seamus’s resume out of the trash. “As you wish.” 

* * *

Percy surveyed the dilapidated store, clipboard in hand. “Obviously, the first step is to clean the place up, for occupational health and safety. This place will not pass a Ministry inspection. Secondly, we must do a stocktake and update your records, as products were surely pilfered during the raids last year. Next, you need an overhaul of your product dressing, with more eye-catching displays near the entryway.” 

“Blimey,” George muttered. “You still think this was a good idea?” 

Fred shrugged. “It’s a kindness to keep him busy. You know how he hates holidays.” 

“Alright, alright Percy, I think we get it,” George interrupted. “Let’s start with the cleaning part of the plan.” 

“Right. Finnegan, you start in the storerooms, I’ll start out here,” Percy ordered. 

“Aye, aye cap’ain!” Seamus said with a wink and paced to the back of the store. 

“I think we should-” 

“Keep an eye on him,” George finished Fred’s thought. 

George grabbed a bucket and cloth, feigning nonchalance, though his lack of magic made him self-conscious enough to start at the opposite end of the storeroom to Seamus. 

“Thanks for the job, mate,” Seamus said, casting dusting charms with a twirl of his wand. “It’s been a right pain to find work since I never got my NEWTs. And since my talents are underappreciated in most workplaces.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I was pretty leery about taking you on after reading your admission about setting the Leaky Cauldron alight. But we-I, thought you might be an asset in developing a new line of pyrotechnic products,” George said. 

“Really?” Seamus beamed. “I didn’t know inventing was part of my job description.” 

“Hopefully it will be, after we get the place cleaned up,” George finished wiping down the boxes on the floor and moved to those on the first shelf. “I’d be interested to hear your ideas.” 

“Grand.” 

They worked in relative silence, apart from Fred insisting that George had missed a spot, too high for him to reach. 

Percy popped his head into the storeroom and narrowed his eyes. “You’d get that area done a lot quicker with a broad-spectrum cleaning charm, Finnegan, rather than doing the dusting, disinfecting and polishing separately.” 

Seamus rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Percy paced over to George’s section, mouth curling to one side. “Ah… good job. On these boxes.” 

George stepped back, taking the bucket with him. “Go on, have at it. I know it’s killing you.” 

Percy smiled tightly and cast a spell over the area. In the blink of an eye, the whole set of shelves was sparkly clean, and the boxes neatly organised by category and size. 

“Feel better?” Fred asked. 

Percy gave a satisfied nod at his work and strutted back out to the main store. 

George snorted and sat on a trolley, swinging his legs back and forth as he watched Seamus work. The man’s sandy coloured hair had grown down past his neck, and his shoulders were broad and stocky. George remembered him from school, a Gryffindor in Ron’s year, but they hadn’t had much occasion to talk. 

“I hope Percy won’t scare you off.” 

Seamus shook his head. “Nah, he’s harmless.” 

“You think so?” 

“Nothing really rattles me after, you know.” 

“Hmm,” George crossed his arms, fending off unbidden memories. “You were still at school when Snape took over, weren’t you?” 

“Yah,” Seamus grabbed a towel from the trolley and wiped his hands of grime. “It weren’t the Hogwarts you left, that’s for sure.” 

George nodded, unsure of what would be a safe topic of conversation to pursue. “I think Hermione mentioned you helped rebuild the castle?” 

“Here and there,” Seamus rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly unsure of where to put his hands now that the cleaning was done. “That was more Dean’s passion than mine. I couldn’t be gladder to leave the place.” 

“What is Dean doing these days?” George asked, hopping off the trolley and wandering back to the main store. 

“Art classes at St Mungo’s. It’s a kind of therapy, like.” 

“Interesting.” 

Of course, Percy had managed to clean the whole store in the same amount of time it had taken the two of them to clean the small storage room. 

“Always the overachiever, Weatherby,” Fred exclaimed. 

“Right, you two,” Percy emerged from behind the counter with two parchment scrolls and quills. “Time for stocktake.” 

* * *

After a thoroughly exhausting weekend commandeered by the youngest assistant to the Ministry of Magic, George was ready to crawl back to bed and sleep for a week. Seamus was ready to hit the town. 

“Join us for a pint, George?” 

“Yes, he would love to,” Fred replied, and George stifled a groan. 

“Bit tired,” he said. 

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” Fred pushed. 

“But I’m up for a drink or two,” George added reluctantly, sure Fred would keep him up all night with his wheedling if he were to go home now. 

“That’s the spirit!” Fred rejoiced. 

“Grand, you mind a Muggle pub?” Seamus asked, pulling on a coat as they exited the shop into Diagon Alley. 

“Why Muggle?” George asked. 

“More lively in the Muggle pubs these days.” 

“Well sure, sounds good.” 

“Right then,” Seamus smiled and held out an arm. 

George took it and braced himself for the rollercoaster of Apparition. After a surprisingly smooth jump, George opened his eyes and found himself outside a nondescript Muggle pub, still in London. It was late in the afternoon, and Muggles milled about in the street, cabs and busses and cars rumbling past on the road. Seamus pulled him into the pub, and they found seats. 

“I don’t know what to order here,” George admitted, trying not to glare at Fred who was wriggling beside him into the seat. “And I don’t have any Muggle cash on me either.” 

“I got you covered,” Seamus grinned and headed up to the bar. 

“You better share when he brings back your drink,” Fred said. 

George scoffed. “How’s that going to work?” 

“Stick a straw in for me.” 

“I definitely won’t be doing that.” 

“Come on, I’ve barely tried any Muggle drinks,” Fred whined. 

“Pretty sure _ghosts_ can’t taste anything.” 

“Bold of you to assume you know more about being a ghost than me.” 

George didn’t answer as Seamus returned with a drink in each hand. 

“Just a beer, nothing fancy,” Seamus advised, sliding George’s drink across the table. 

“Thanks.” 

Seamus held up his glass. “Sláinte.” 

They clinked their glasses together. 

* * *

“What about fireworks that spell out a word? You could sell them to Quidditch teams and fans, it’d be brilliant at evening games.” 

“We should be writing this down,” Fred said. “You’re too sloshed to be retaining this.” 

“Yes!” George exclaimed. “We’d have to charm consecutive explosions that form each letter, held the shape, and levi-levitated above the field.” 

“Should be pretty easy to customise colours too.” 

“Yeah, that could be pretty popular for a lot of teams.” 

“Bang on, I don’t know why you’re not exporting more already. American wizards are mad for firecrackers.” 

“We wanted to,” George said. “It just got too hectic.” 

Seamus nodded. “Well now things are getting up and running, anything’s possible.” 

George finished his drink and watched Seamus do the same, his Adam’s apple bobbing prominently as he tipped his head back. 

Seamus exhaled. “That was deadly. Better crack on though.” 

“Yeah,” George rose from the table, suddenly realising he had no idea how he was getting back to the Burrow. “Um, can you Apparate us-me, back home?” 

“Oh, I’ve never seen your place though, George. I can take you back to mine and you can Floo it though?” 

George nodded, taking Seamus’s arm and walking out of the pub, the walls and lights tipping slightly from side to side. They dipped out of the well-lit pub crawl and into a dimmer street, then Disapparated with a snap. 

They landed in a small apartment loungeroom, lit with a few lanterns and furnished with some tattered couches. George stumbled from the dizziness-inducing travel and Seamus guided him to sit. 

“I’ll be back in a tick with some powder,” he said and hurried down the hall. 

George leaned against the couch cushion and closed his eyes. 

* * *

George awoke to sunlight streaming on his face. There was a heavy blanket over him, and a glass of water on the floor. He was still on Seamus’s couch. 

“Sleep well?” Fred asked, stirring a cup of tea. 

George yawned and sat up. “Not really. Are you actually going to drink that?” 

Fred took a sip and raised his eyebrows challengingly. 

“Seamus must think I’m a right tosser, crashing in his loungeroom.” 

“Nah, he doesn’t,” Seamus himself walked in, a bowl of cereal in hand. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers. Fred wolf whistled. 

“Ah, sorry to be a bother,” George said, standing quickly. 

“You’re no bother, you were obviously completely knackered last night.” 

George fished around in his robe pockets. “Will a few Sickles cover the drinks? I’m rubbish with conversion.” 

“Keep it. Shout me next time,” Seamus countered. 

“Right. Sure,” George awkwardly pocketed the money. “I’ll um, see you later.” 

“Tomorrow at the store?” 

“Yeah, see you then.” 

George took a pinch of Floo powder and crouched into the fireplace. Seamus waved as he went up in green flames. 

* * *

The next week was spent repricing items, selecting which stock should go on sale, and creating marketing for the grand re-opening in two weeks’ time. George was grudgingly grateful for Percy’s help. 

“How’d you get so good at business, anyway?” he asked when they were spello-tapping half-priced tags to Nose Biting Teacups. 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Percy said haughtily. “Despite what you may think of me, I didn’t achieve my success at the Ministry through arse kissing alone.” 

George laughed. “So, you admit there was some arse kissing.” 

“Well, yes,” Percy said, cheeks colouring. “I had to counter the disdain the family name provokes somehow.” 

“Arse Kissers, that should be our next product,” Fred chimed in. 

“We’re not a sex shop,” George huffed. 

“What did you say?” Percy asked, scandalised. 

“I said, ‘we’re not the best shop’. But we’re getting there, with your help,” George added. 

“Hmm,” Percy frowned. 

“Did you blokes want to see how the signs are getting on?” Seamus asked. 

Percy and George followed him out to the shop entrance. The frontage paint was still wet, but it was obvious that the colours had been brightened and revitalised. Dean was wiping his brushes in a rag, overalls speckled and smile wide. 

“Brilliant,” George said. “It looks heaps better. Thanks, Dean.” 

“Don’t thank me now, I’ve still got the banners to do yet.” 

“Well I’m sure they’ll look wicked too.” 

“Yes, good work,” Percy agreed. “Carry on, gentleman, George and I still have a lot of labelling to do.” 

Percy walked back inside, and George gave a long-suffering look at Seamus, who winked at him. 

* * *

In the spring sun, they sat in a meadow, a meandering walk from the Burrow, with little butterflies fluttering across the grass and flowers, and a faint breeze ruffling their hair. 

_Bang!_

A rocket launched into the air, spinning and looping until it exploded into a dazzling rainbow. 

“It worked!” Seamus cheered, waving smoke out of his face. 

“I can’t believe the colours are holding up in this light!” George exclaimed. 

They fell back onto the picnic mat, grinning, and stared up at their newest creation. 

“Do you reckon we can sell them at the opening this weekend?” Seamus asked. 

“Probably should do more beta testing,” George replied. “But it’s certainly promising.” 

He took out the bread, cheese and snacks Molly had prepared from the picknick basket and handed Seamus a plate. 

“Thanks for working on this with me, George.” 

“What do you mean?” George asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “You’re the one helping me.” 

Seamus shrugged, layering cheese and ham on his bread. “I just mean, it must be hard for you, like. Inventing again, without your brother.” 

“Oh.” George tried to swallow the bread, sticking and clinging to his throat. 

“Oi, I did help!” Fred protested. 

“You know sometimes,” George whispered, leaning in towards Seamus. “I can still hear his voice.” 

“Stop telling everyone I’m dead!” Fred yelled. “I mean, I am dead, but I’m still here.” 

“Really?” Seamus asked. 

“Truly,” George admitted. “He says he’s a ghost, but I think he’s more like a hallucination, because he’s apparently invisible to everyone else.” 

“Wait, you can actually see him?” Seamus asked. 

“Yeah…He only appeared on our birthday a few weeks ago.” 

“Is he here right now?” 

George nodded and gestured towards his brother, who was resting his chin on the basket, glaring. 

Seamus squinted and bit his lip. “Yeah, I don’t see anything.” 

“Can you see this?” Fred asked, giving Seamus the bird. 

George snorted. “He says hello.” 

“Liar!” Fred protested. 

“So he’s kind of like…” Seamus tapped his finger on his chin thoughtfully. “Like an imaginary friend?” 

“Maybe,” George said thoughtfully. It was certainly a more charitable way of conceptualising his descent into madness. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? It’ll only make mum fret.” 

Seamus tapped his nose. “Tell them what?” 

George smiled gratefully and gripped his knee. “Thanks.” 

* * *

The night before the grand reopening, there was a knock at George’s bedroom door. He shot a warning look at Fred, who threw his hands up defensively, and called, “Come in.” 

“Hi,” Percy hovered in the doorway, eyes flitting around the room. 

George patted the bed next to him and Percy ambled over, fiddling with his nightcap. 

“What’s up?” George asked. 

“I –” Percy swallowed and looked down at the floorboards. “There’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time and I haven’t…” 

“Okay.” 

Percy turned his body towards George, eyes still downcast and he inhaled deeply. 

George put a hand on his shoulder and tilted his head in concern. “Perce?” 

Percy put his hand over George’s and looked at him, smiling weakly. “I’ve wanted to tell you, for the longest time…I’m proud of you, George.” 

George blinked, lips flicking between different shapes, but producing no sound. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why-what do you mean?” 

“Your achievements are amazing, someone so young, running a successful business. You’ve got such…imagination. And your ambition, and cunning. I’ve no idea why you weren’t in Slytherin.” 

“Steady on, I thought this was supposed to be positive feedback,” Fred said. 

“Oh, well. Thanks, Percy,” George tried to return his smile. “I couldn’t have done it on my own.” 

Percy nodded, blinking back tears. “I’m proud of him too,” he whispered. “I wish I could have told him that.” 

George pulled Percy into a hug, a ball forming in his throat. “He would have appreciated that, I’m sure.” 

Fred joined the hug. “I love you too, Perce, you big softie.” 

George laughed a watery laugh, tears finally breaking. 

“What’s so funny?” Percy sniffed. 

“Nothing,” George closed his eyes. “I just. I miss him so much.” 

Percy squeezed George tighter. “Me too.” 

* * *

The store was packed with wizards and witches of all ages, squealing at product testers, filling their baskets and chattering excitedly. Sparkling Snakes and Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Flyers and Tiny Twisters flew off the shelves, and George had to jump on the second register next to Seamus to keep up. 

“What’s this I hear about a new range of pryro products?” A young man asked Seamus, as he was paying for a box of Bombastic Bombs and a tin of Self-Propelling Custard Pies. 

“You’re going to love it, boyo,” Seamus assured him. “It’ll be out by summer.” 

“Can I place a pre-order?” he asked excitedly. 

Seamus handed him a mail order form. “Tell your friends too!” 

After a busy day, they locked up shop, and George turned to Seamus with a glint in his eye. “I think it’s my turn to shout you a round.” 

“That’d be right,” Seamus grinned. He took George’s arm. 

“How do you make your jumps so smooth?” George asked as they rounded into a new pub. 

“I’m always a smooth ride,” Seamus said lowly. 

George bit the inside of his cheek, unsure whether the blush across his neck was warranted. He left Seamus at a table and fiddled around with his Muggle notes, trying to focus on what Dean had taught him about Muggle drinks last week. He started with beers, just to be on the safe side. 

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Seamus said, after they had rejoiced over the successful reopening. 

“Oh yeah? Whereabouts?” 

Seamus pushed up his sleeve and gestured to his bicep. “Right here I reckon,” he flexed the muscle. 

“You right there, Georgie?” Fred smirked. 

George took a swig of his beer. “What of?” 

“Maybe the Irish Quidditch team.” 

“The leprechaun?” 

“Or just the name,” Seamus stuck his pink tongue out and George stared. 

“You are so screwed,” Fred laughed. 

Feeling defiant, George ran a finger over Seamus’s bicep, biting his lip. “So many letters though…” 

“Not if I get a magic tat,” Seamus countered. “I could have the letters run across like a screen.” 

George met his eyes. They were sky blue, which he had somehow not noticed before. “It’d look good on you.” 

Seamus leant in, close enough that George could smell the alcohol on his breath and the cologne on his neck. “I know.” 

A smile crept over George’s face, and warmth flushed his body. He was screwed. 

Seamus leant back in his chair, one hand behind his head and he skolled the rest of the glass. “Right, I’ve got somewhere else to take you.” 

George followed him out into the street, where night had already fallen. They wove through glittery streets, the sounds of talking and laughter carrying in the air. It was starting to drizzle. They ducked into a bar lit pink, rainbow flag in the window. The music was louder, and there was a dancefloor as well as a bar. 

“Do you dance?” George asked in surprise. 

“I might be persuaded,” Seamus replied, having to raise his voice to be heard over the thunking bass. “If you buy me another drink.” 

George did just that, experimenting with ordering cocktails now. 

“A strawberry daquiri, is it?” Seamus took his glass. “Very adventurous for you.” 

“Adventurous is my middle name,” George said. 

“Step up your game,” Fred admonished. “That was terrible.” 

George slid into the booth beside Seamus and they surveyed the small mill of people starting to dance. “Come here often?” 

Seamus tilted his head side to side, taking a sip. “A few times.” 

“I suppose you and Dean would like it.” 

“Good job,” Fred deadpanned. 

“Why would you suppose that?” Seamus asked. 

“Ah…” George’s eyes flicked to Fred who was shaking his head. “It’s very…colourful.” 

Seamus laughed and patted George’s shoulder. “The word you’re looking for is gay. And it’s mighty craic. Unfortunately, Dean’s not the type.” 

“Oh. You come on your own then?” 

Seamus toyed with the strawberry on the glass rim and eyed George seriously. “I do.” 

“And do you leave on your own?” George asked. 

Seamus raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?” He licked his lips, bringing the strawberry to his mouth. 

Heat was pooling in George’s lower abdomen. He could imagine Seamus’s wet lips slipping over something longer, harder and thicker than the pink strawberry he was currently sucking on. He shifted in his suddenly tight pants and swallowed. 

“I’d bet you’ve never left here alone.” 

“Hmm,” Seamus swallowed the strawberry. His blonde eyelashes reflected the pink light as he looked George up and down. “We’ll see about that.” 

Seamus’s gaze seemed to rake sparks over George’s body, and he leant in, pressing his mouth to Seamus’s ear. “Fancy a dance, then?” 

They slipped out of their booth, Fred giving them a wave, and headed onto the dancefloor. Truthfully, the only dance George had ever learnt was for the Yule ball, and that didn’t really fit here. Seamus didn’t seem to know much in the way of choreography either, but he swayed his hips and rolled his shoulders, and George was reeled in all the same. As the floor filled with more and more people, their bubble only felt smaller and smaller. Seamus grabbed him and spun him around until they were both dizzy and laughing breathlessly, and George pulled them back to the table for a break. 

“Can I dance, or can I dance?” Seamus asked. 

George did a so-so tilt of his hand. 

“Feck off!” Seamus pushed his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I’ve seduced many a lad with my moves.” 

George rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s what seduced them.” 

“Really? What did then?” 

George caught hold of Seamus’s accusatory finger and rubbed his hand up Seamus’s arm. “Could be when you flashed your guns.” 

Seamus shivered, and shifted closer on the seat. “Can’t be that. I haven’t mentioned my tattoo plans to anyone else yet.” 

George smirked and rubbed a thumb over Seamus’s lips. “Must be the way you eat fruit then.” 

“Could be that, yeah,” Seamus whispered. 

“Or,” George husked, pressing Seamus back into the booth, one hand crawling over his thigh. “It could be that you taste so damn good.” 

“How would you kno-” 

George pressed their lips together, cupping Seamus’s neck. He tasted sweet and bitter and warm and George moaned as Seamus slipped in his tongue. 

He broke away to grab a breath, and Seamus gripped his shoulders, pupils round black disks in his blue pool irises. 

“Definitely that,” George panted. 

Fred cleared his throat. “You might want to get a room.” 

“I will, and you’re not coming,” George replied. He turned back to Seamus. “You want to get out of here? 

Seamus nodded, rubbing a thumb over George’s stubble. “Back to mine.” 

“Have fun! Use protection!” Fred called, before they Apparated to Seamus’s apartment. 

* * *

They fell back onto the couch and George scrambled to strip off his robe and trousers. Seamus pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it over the both of them and suddenly they were entirely naked. 

“Oh. Efficient.” 

Seamus grinned and pulled George onto his lap, hands running greedily over his back and chest. 

“Ah!” George cried as their dicks rubbed together, the feeling of skin against skin warm and addictive. 

Seamus mouthed over his nipple, capturing the nub between tongue and teeth, and George drunk in his smouldering expression. Seamus slipped one hand down over George’s hip and around both their dicks. He stroked them together and George rutted into his touch, nails digging into Seamus’s shoulders. 

“You feel fucking amazing,” Seamus husked against his chest, rubbing his thumb over George’s head. 

“Oh fuck,” George groaned, face falling into the crook of Seamus’s neck. He inhaled great lungfuls of Seamus’s musk, and bit into neck, sucking a purple bloom to muffle his moans. 

Seamus cried out. “Yes, bite me like that.” 

George kissed his way up Seamus’s neck and across his cheek. “You like me biting you?” he breathed hotly over Seamus’s half-parted lips. 

Seamus sped up pulling on his handful of dicks and nodded. “Mm, more please.” 

George laughed and kissed his way to the other side of Seamus’s neck, sucking and biting a hickey to match the other side. A wave of pleasure was building with Seamus’s every stroke and George grinded hard, electrified by the pressure of his touch, digging his toes into the couch. He wanted more, more, more. 

“I want to touch you,” he rasped. “Fuck, let me touch you, Seamus.” 

Seamus released their throbbing dicks and pulled George in for a kiss, fingers threading tightly in his red hair. He nuzzled into George’s neck, breathing hard. “How do you want me?” 

George blinked. There was not enough blood getting to his brain for his. “Just, lie down,” he managed, dizzying lust spiking as Seamus twisted to the side and laid on his back, chest heaving, and dick pressed against his abdomen. 

George’s mouth watered as he surveyed the man’s muscular body, pale skin and swollen lips. He climbed over top of him and wrapped his arms around his chest, pressing every inch of their fiery skin together, as they kissed deeply. Seamus gripped his arse with one hand, trying to pull him even closer. George frotted over him, savouring every moan and gasp and adding to the symphony himself. 

“Yes, mmm, yes,” Seamus babbled between kisses, hips bucking wildly. “Yes, baby.” 

“Fuck me,” George swallowed, losing control of his thrusts. He gripped Seamus’s shoulders hard and fucked their cocks together, transfixed on Seamus’s blown pupils, his cries of “Baby, baby”, pounding in his ears. 

George came, tremoring and mewling, coating their stomachs in white seed. Seamus stroked his face, legs wrapped around George’s arse, panting. 

George slowly shimmied down Seamus’s body, nestling his face into Seamus’s balls. 

“Oh please,” Seamus breathed. “Please.” 

“Please what,” George grinned, rubbing his cheek along Seamus’s inner thigh. 

“Please suck me,” Seamus begged. 

George groaned and licked his way up Seamus’s dick, catching his own cum as he did so. He grabbed his dick and pumped the lower part of the shaft, then popped his mouth over the head, sucking in time. 

Seamus pulled George’s hair, moaning and George thought that desperate sound could get him hard all over again. He wanted to suck every last debauched sound from Seamus’s lips, til he screamed, til he cried, til he lost his voice. The weight pressed on his tongue and filled out his cheeks and bobbed down his throat. Seamus’s arse was squirming into the cushion as he tried to resist bucking up into George’s face, so George gripped his hip and pinned him down. 

“I’m going to come,” Seamus bit out. “Fuck baby, yes!” 

George bobbed wildly, crazed by the prize in sight, and Seamus came into his mouth. George held Seamus’s balls firmly in his hand, feeling the beating pulse of his orgasm, sucking it all down. 

Seamus tugged on his hair until he crawled back up his body and snuggled into his strong arms. George fell asleep on Seamus’s couch for the second time, mind fuzzy with the sex high, the only coherent thought he could catch, the hope that it wouldn’t be his last. 

* * *

“I’m going away,” Fred announced a few months later, as George was setting out the new summer display. 

“Where?” George frowned. “Haunting Percy next?” 

“He’d be so lucky,” Fred retorted. “Nah. I mean, I’m moving on.” 

Panic fluttered in George’s chest and he shook his head. “No, you can’t. I need you.” 

Fred smiled and wrapped a weightless arm over George’s shoulder. “I’ll always be with you, you know that.” 

Tears pricked at George’s eyes and he wished he knew for sure that this Fred was just a hallucination, just an imaginary friend, that his brain would continue to conjure up to keep him company forever. But he didn’t know, and it could be that this was the last time he’d see any version of Fred. 

“I won’t ever stop missing you,” George said, throat scratching. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish it were me that had died.” 

“I know,” Fred said softly. “You’ve got to live now though, Georgie, for the both of us.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” George did cry now. 

“You can and you will,” Fred said confidently. “I believe in you. And I’ll be watching you always. Except when you’re taking a shit. Or fucking your boyfriend.” 

“Sod off,” George groaned, a smile pulling his lips. 

“Although I did happen to notice you didn’t use protection…” 

“What the fuck, you bloody perve! You did not!” 

“You’re right, I wasn’t there, but now you’ve just confirmed you weren’t.” 

“Oh Merlin,” George shook his head. “Alright, get on with it then, so I can cry in peace.” 

“Love ya, mate.” 

“I love you too.” 

Seamus carried a box of Rainbow Rockets out from the storeroom and dumped them on the ground. He caught sight of George’s face and hurried over. “What the matter?” 

George threw himself into Seamus’s arms, burying his face into his neck. “He’s gone.” 

“Oh babe,” Seamus rubbed his back in circles. “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” George nodded, holding Seamus like a lifebuoy. 

_Bang!_

They both whipped around to see a Rainbow Rocket shooting into the air. It twirled through the shelves and up to the ceiling, then exploded into a glorious, glowing rainbow. George laughed and held Seamus’s hand. Seamus squeezed back, eyes wide with surprise, reflecting a question George could read plain as day. George smiled and shrugged and pulled Seamus in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! For any Irish readers, how'd I go on the Irish dialect? :P


End file.
